


Dead Heart

by derp2lol (Ihere)



Series: PoliceForcestuck [8]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blackmail, Kidnapping, Reporting, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2012-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-05 04:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihere/pseuds/derp2lol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day of Aradia's kidnapping. Aradia's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Heart

“Tick tock.”

Your old fashion clock continues the endless drone on in your sleep. Tick tock tick tock over and over again. It can destroy brain cells. Its hands making the same movement in the same direction. Constantly clockwise.

In your own mind you believe the clocks are a metaphor for society. In order, always moving, consistent; however, it’s not completely consistent. There are times. Times when society will decide to burst into chaos. 

“Brrrriiiiiiiiinnnnggg!” your clock goes shaking on the nightstand. You lift your head slowly and pound on the OFF button. You never hit snooze. To hit snooze would be to mess with your time. And you are always in step with time. 

You swing your head up and have the rest of your body leave your bed. Your hair cuddles your arms and your horns weigh down on your head. You straighten your midnight slacks and head into your kitchen. You have a nice apartment for someone of your class. It’s . . . classy.

You chuckle at the joke you just told yourself. You do not usually share such jokes that you love for other people find them either morbid or dead. 

The coffee maker is turned on and warms up a pot quickly. Your coffee will be ready in three minutes and twelve seconds. It’s supposed to be ready in three minutes exactly, but companies tend to mislabel their packages. 

You listen to your heartbeat ticking away. Tick tock. Most people would probably think that you are crazy for saying that your heart can sound like an old clock, but it’s true. Sweeps ago, when you were still a high school wiggler, an old friend started a school shooting. You recently became occupied with other . . . things that took up a lot of time, so you lost touch with the friend. He blamed you for abandoning him, but you found his reasoning to be irrational and his speech to be oddly pronounced. Either way, he shot you aimed toward your heart, then he shot himself immediately afterwards. 

You ended up lucky you supposed. Your friend died, but he barely missed your heart when he shot you; however, he was very close. Close enough that you had to take fast surgery which involved replacing parts of your heart with mechanical gears. You’re lucky they say, and all you have to live with is the never ending ticks and tocks going on inside your heart. But you’re used to it. 

The coffee is ready. You pour yourself a cup black. You hasten to turn on the television in your living room. The Capital’s news show blares on. You sip your coffee for fifteen minutes listening to reports of solved crimes, improving job market, and a decrease of deaths in the Capital. You shut the television off.

“Ahh the Capital,” you think to yourself, “A place of pure, infinite happiness they say. Where things only improve.” True, the Capital is known for its numerous amounts of benefits and the constant increase of carefree people, but Skaia is where all the real action happens. That’s why people leave the Capital to go to Skaia, they desire something more than peace. You think that you would have been one of those people if you were born in the Capital, but you’re a Skaian troll hatched and raised. 

You clean yourself up changing into a black top with maroon stitching and a similar skirt. Dress professional they tell you. Bright colors makes them pay attention they tell you. But you’re more than a simple rag doll. You’ve proven that long ago in the past. 

You take a quick look at your bedroom bookshelf. An array of books from your past sits on it. Some of these books include past journals from your younger sweeps. You started the habit in your high school era when you realized that you wanted to report the news. Reporting on your life seemed like a good start. Sure, before then you wanted to be an archeologist, but as you grew you envisioned a life of you uncovering the truth instead of fossils. A tough call. And even then you wanted to report for a newspaper. But sadly, like the fossils in the ground, the newspaper is dead. The news station made a proper replacement though.

You grab the final attachment to your garb, a piece of plastic with a clip that identifies you and allows you access into the station. On the plastic it has your symbol in color, age, weight, height, profession, picture of identification and finally your name. 

Your name is Aradia Megido, and either the coffee didn’t settle right in your stomach, or this is going to be a strange day.

Tick Tock.

You take a short walk to the station. Time has sure changed since you were young. There’s no blood equalist protesting, and no low bloods being culled. No, now the only thing to worry about is the homeless. 

You see a scruffy man with his palm held out. You drop five dollars into his hand. The man looks up at you, “Thank you miss.” You give a shy smile and give a little nod and continue on your way.

It’s a busy hour now; trolls are squished together trying to get to their jobs. More high class trolls and blacks shove past you than the others. There are things that’ll never change. 

You keep your purse close to your body and trudge on.

Tick Tock.

You are at the news station. Kharlotti greets you with a fake smile. Her co-anchor, Trawel does the same. They walk together to what you assume a broom closet where they’ll continue their little affair. Their matesprits must be suffering, but you don’t gossip for that. Besides, it’s a great card to have for the future.

All around you are low bloods with the highest color being green. The news station is supposed to be blood color friendly due to the laws preventing blood discrimination, but high bloods refuse to associate with low bloods such as yourself. You don’t mind, most high bloods just get in the way in your opinion. Too picky on being politically correct for their own cast. But not all of them. In fact, you felt bad for Ms. Peixes weeks ago after the outburst. She is one of the few in this world that tries to help this city. A pity.

You sit at your desk where the schedule of events sits on. You search for your name and find it scheduled for two in the afternoon interviewing someone in the police department about the crime ratings going up. Easy. 

Tick Tock.

You are still at your desk. A human delivery man comes to your desk with a gift, red roses. Roses close in color to your own color of blood. “Here you are Ms. Megido,” the man says. “More flowers from that lovely admirer of yours.” 

“Thank you Sam,” you politely say. The man tips his hat towards you and leaves. You however stare at the flowers.

A female sighs behind you, “More flowers from that admirer Aradia?” Kharlotti asks.

“Yes.”

“When are you going to take that nice troll out?” She prides while examining the flowers. 

You start writing down ideas for your interview today, “I’m not really interested in dating this sappy romantic. Besides, my admirer has never asked to meet in person.” 

“Well it seems like he or she wants to now.” Your attention is grabbed and you see Kharlotti holding a card still peeking inside the flowers. 

You are startled by this intrusion, “Where did you get that?”

“It was in the flowers dear. Really you should check things more. You know, I bet the troll is rich! What with the constant buying of expensive flowers.” 

You snatch the card, “Stay out of my things Kharlotti,” you growl. You look at the card.

She smirks at you, “Well are you going to meet the troll?”

“I prefer for secret admires to stay that way.”

“How dull. You should meet the troll and mess with his head or something. I bet you could get kinky stuff out of it,” she rabbles excitedly.

You roll your eyes, “Some of us would rather focus on work, Kharlotti.” The anchortroll scoffs at you and walks back to her own work. 

Your lusus always told you that you didn’t connect with others well. Your own fault really. But you guess that you are just too different for them. In fact, if there was another new station in Skaia that would accept you . . . well the result is clear. 

You take a quick peek at the card, “Meet me at the special place tonight.”

Tick Tock. 

You have finally arrived at the police department. You push past the doors with your cameratroll, Clevais behind you. The receptionist has her nose deep in a trashy  
romance novel. She barely notices you without fully removing herself from the book.

“How may I help you today?” 

“I’m here for an interview with someone in the department.”

The receptionist appears to have finally recognized you, “Ah yes, come right in. The station called earlier about this. I’m sure one of the officers or even the chief would be able to talk to you. It’s a slow day so you should be fine.”

“Thank you,” you say. You walk into the heart of the building.

Humans and trolls of many colors are either walking around or working over a pile of paperwork. You search for an officer who is probably high in the department. 

You think you have found one due to how others are constantly asking for help from him. You wait until he is alone.

“Excuse me? My name is Aradia Megido and I was hoping to interview you over the recent crime rates?” The troll turns to you a little surprise. His eyes are covered behind red and blue lens. You’re going to have to have those removed for the interview. 

“Oh uh . . I don’t know if I should be the one for this,” he lisps. Great, another issue to deal with. 

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” you encourage pulling a chair over with a fake smile already plaster over your face. “Just answer the questions to the best of your ability. Just relax. This won’t even be live.”

The troll didn’t stop being nervous, “I’m really not sure if I can-“

You throw your hand in front of his face, “Calm down officer. I need you to stay calm.” You heart starts to tick a little faster with annoyance. “Now tell me your name.”

He pushes you hand down, “It’s Officer Captor.”

“Great now let’s-“ He pushes his own hand in front of your face. You feel insulted.

“No. I don’t want to do this interview,” he says sternly.

You’re a little perplexed, “Why?” 

“I don’t approve of reporters very much.” Strange.

“Oh really? Please explain.”

“Please, I don’t want this to be one of those things were you secretly interview me. Can you just interview the chief instead?” He points to a door a little ways away. 

“I know Chief Zahhak. I’ve interviewed him before,” you say a little disgusted.

“Why can’t you interview him again?”

“Because I know how those interviews are like. A complete sweat attack,” you recall keeping back the vomit. 

Officer Captor gives a short chuckle but notices someone behind you, “Vriska what are you doing here? I thought you were with Jade and Karkat.” The name makes your heart stop.

“Pleeeeeeeease Sollux, they didn’t need me. It was some boring bank robbery, and the two easily took care of it. Those bank robbers were compleeeeeeeetely  
unprofessional. Now who’s this?” The troll Vriska walks around to look you straight in the face. She smiles, “I know you,” the ticks don’t return, “you’re Aradia Megido from The Reporting Times news.” Vriska turns to Officer Captor, “You being interviewed?”

“No, I’ve refused to be interviewed today. I’m just hoping Ms. Medigo can forgive m-“

“It’s alright,” you interrupt. “It’s not that important. I can interview here another time.” You quickly pull your stuff together. 

Clevais looks at you strangely, “Uh Aradia, what are we going to do for the time we need to fill?”

You look at him angrily, “I’ll just tell Kharlotti that she can do another interview about styling your horns to attract a mate.”

He looks at you unbelieving, “Again?”

“Again.” The troll shrugs his arms and follows you out the door. You risk glancing back and find Vriska wiggling her fingers goodbye towards you. You gasp and leave before the confused receptionist could start to worry.

Tick Tock.

You are in your apartment again. It is late. Your boss was very disappointed that you failed to get an interview. You had to listen to a long lecture. But it beats staying with Vriska.

You don’t understand how someone like her could work in the police department. Just the thought of it causes your heart to tick dangerously fast. She is bad news of the worst kind. Did you somehow get into a parallel universe? No too science fiction. Are you dreaming? No, that’s also illogical.

You knew of her in high school. You never associated with the likes of her. She’s too high in the cast. But she didn’t like you. And you didn’t like her. Worst of all, there were rumors that she influenced your suicidal friend’s death. But they couldn’t prove it. However you know it’s true. You are positive. 

You know that you should inform Skaia of the troll working with the police, but she has something on you. Something that can never be revealed. Never.

Oh the torture of blackmail. 

The television continues to show Capital news. When you shift in your position, something pokes your side. You reach into your pocket to find the note card, “Meet me at the special place tonight.”

Why would he send you this? He’s never done this sort of thing before. Maybe he wants to explain to you why Vriska is there. You sigh; it seems that you have no other choice but to go.

Tick Tock.

You are now sitting in a swing at Skaia’s park. A poorly built place with rusting equipment and weeds. You swing your feet back and forth while you wait. It’s coming to one o three and fifty-three seconds now. You don’t know how much longer you can wait. Damn it! He didn’t specify a time.

You look around the park in a nostalgic mood. You spent a lot of time here with old friends and your lusus while growing up. A special place indeed. 

“Ms. Medigo?” You look up to find a hooded figure before you. The hood is pulled over so much that the horns are covered along with the face. The male troll coughs.

“Who are you?” you ask. This is definitely not who you were expecting.

The hooded troll ignores you, “I’m sorry Ms. Medigo, but you have to come with us.” Us? You look around you and find similar hooded figures around you closing in. “I’ll understand if you resist us.” 

You panic, run must run. Tick tock tick tock. Your heart is beating faster. There’s a chance. You can always- 

But you don’t get the chance. A troll behind you holds a rag tight around your face. The ticking slows down. You eyes start to close. The last thing you see is the hooded troll with deep blue eyes.

Tick Tock.

You awake in a dark room. A red spot light shoots down on you. Your grey skin appears maroon. You are strapped onto a chair with no way to move out.

You attempt to tap into your psychic powers that you failed to use before. Fuck. You must be drugged. You have the ability of a stuffed sack now.

“Well Ms. Megido,” the original hooded troll appeared before you. “Do you know why you are here?”

“No,” you whisper.

He smiles with his cold blue eyes behind the hood, “Oh yes you do.” He grabs a cutting knife rimmed with a blue liquid out of his sleeve, “You should appreciate this. All low bloods want to be a blue blood.” Heart beats faster. “I promise Ms. Megido, you do deserve this.” The knife draws closer to you, and your heart doesn’t stop beating at maximum level. If this blue blood doesn’t kill you, then your heart will do the job soon enough.


End file.
